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ROSEMARY 


STORIES BY 

ALICE E. ALLEN 


’il? 

Rosemary .... 
Joe, the Circus Boy . 
The Martie Twins . . 


$0.50 
. 0.50 

. 1.25 


THE PAGE COMPANY 
53 Beacon Street, Boston, Mass. 





“ ‘ NOW,’ SHE CRIED, THROWING HERSELF ON THE 
GROUND, ‘ WHAT DID HE SAY? ’ ” {See page I.) 




5H|g Qlogg Olorttgr 


ROSEMARY 


ALICE E. ^LEN 

Author of “Joe, the Circus Boy,” “The Martie 
Twins,” etc. 


Illustrated by 
JOSEPHINE BRUCE 



BOSTON 

THE PAGE COMPANY 
MDCCCCXVII 


■’V 



Copyright, 1911, 1912, by 
Primary Education Company 

Copyright, 1917, by 
The Page Company 

All rights reserved 


First Impression, February, 1917 


< . 



MAR 16 1917 

©GI,A457466 




t 



CHAPTER 

I. 

Rosemary Begins School . . 

PAGE 

I 

II. 

Billy Sees Double .... 


III. 

Thanksgiving Roses .... 

. 20 

IV. 

“Jinny ’n’ John ’n’ the Baby’^ . 

• 31 

V. 

Rosemary Goes into Business . 

. 40 

VI. 

Rosemary’s Tea Party . . . 

. 49 

VEI. 

Rosemary’s Found .... 

• 57 

VIII. 

All Aboard for Aunt Mary’s . 

. 67 

rx. 

A Chapter of Surprises . . 

• 77 

X. 

A Letter from Aunt Rose . . 

. 87 




PAGE 

“^Now/ SHE CRIED, THROWING HERSELF ON 
THE GROUND, ‘WHAT DID HE SAY ” {See 
page i) Frontispiece 

“There, drawn up, one just back of the 

OTHER, WERE THREE SMALL CHILDREN . 32 

“Three fierce-looking Indians . . . stole 

STEALTHILY OUT OF A DARK CORNER” . 53 ^ 

“The two groups came suddenly in sight 
OF EACH other” 


8s 

















ROSEMARY 


CHAPTER I 

ROSEMARY BEGINS SCHOOL 

Mary ran from the barn. Rose ran from 
the porch. At the woodpile they met. Before 
Mary could say the words on the end of her 
tongue, Rose clapped a hand over her mouth 
and half dragged her to a seat on a large stick 
of wood. 

‘‘Now,” she cried, throwing herself on the 
ground, “what did he say?” 

“Father said,” gasped Mary, “that one of 
us could go.” 

“One of us?” In her excitement Rose 
sprang up and shook Mary. “Did you say one 
of us, Mary Dawson?” 

1 


2 


Rosemary 


Mary nodded. 

can’t help it, Rose,” she cried. ‘‘I did 
the best I could. But Father was so cross. 
You can go — I don’t care a single mite about it. 
ril stay home and help Cynthy in the house 
and Father and Jake and the boys outdoors, 
ril do your part and mine, too.” 

‘‘Mary Dawson,” said Rose solemnly, “who 
ever heard of one twin going to school and 
learning things, and the other one staying home 
and knowing nothing? No, if one of us can’t 
go, neither can the other. And Father knew 
it all the time. Oh, dear, did you tell him we’d 
get up early and help Cynthy?” 

Mary nodded, and a great tear hopped off 
the end of her nose. 

“He said only one of us could go,” she said. 

“Did you say we’d ride Old Fan to the vil- 
lage and back every single day?” 

“One of us,” began Mary. 

“Oh dear!” cried Rose, while a tear half- 
way down her cheek got lost in a dimple which 
came out unexpectedly, “you make me think 
of the girl in Mother’s verse-book who kept 
saying ‘We are seven.’ But did you tell Father 
’bout the letters coming from Aunt Mary and 


Rosemary Begins School 


3 


Aunt Rose and how they both said we must 
begin school?’’ 

‘That made Father angrier than anything,” 
said Mary. “He said Aunt Rose was our aunt 
on his side and you were named for her and 
she could educate you if she had a mind to, 
and Aunt Mary was our aunt on Mother’s side 
and I was named for her and she could educate 
me — she had plenty of money. Then I told 
him that we’d earned ten whole dollars our 
own selves and he said that would about pay 
for books and schooling for one of us — ^and 
for one of us to take it and go on to school, if 
we wanted to.” 

“Mary,” said Rose, “did Father say which 
one ?” 

“I asked him,” said Mary, “and he said so 
long as he couldn’t tell one of us from the 
other, it didn’t make any difference to him — 
what is it?” 

For Rose was rolling over and over on the 
grass screaming with laughter. 

“Oh, Mary Contrary Dawson,” she cried, 
“come on — come on, quick!” She got to her 
feet, grasped Mary by the hand, and hurried 
her along over the grass to the house. She 


4 


Rosemary 


didn’t stop there, but dragged her up stairs to 
their own little room under the eaves. Before 
the small mirror which hung in the angle she 
paused. 

‘‘Look!” she cried. 

Both twins looked into the mirror, then 
turned and stared breathlessly at each other. 
If each had still been gazing into the mirror 
she couldn’t have seen there a better copy of 
herself. 

Mary was as like Rose as one nodding pansy 
is like another. Rose had long light hair 
parted primly and braided in two braids. So 
had Mary. Rose had big blue eyes with twin- 
kles in them. So had Mary, only with fewer 
twinkles. Rose had a small turn-up-at-the- 
corners mouth. So had Mary. Rose had a 
dimple in her left cheek. So had Mary, only 
her dimple was slower about coming than 
Rose’s. Rose had a funny dab of a nose. So 
had Mary. 

All their lives the Dawson twins had heard 
that it was quite impossible to tell them apart. 
But until this very minute they had never real- 
ized quite what it meant. No wonder Cynthy 
and Cynthy’s husband, Jake, and the boys. 


Eosemary Begins School 


5 


and even Father, went on mistaking Rose for 
Mary and Mary for Rose over and over again. 

Rose drew a long breath. 

**We can do it,” she said, ‘‘for weVe just 
ex-act-ly the same even to the freckles on our 
noses. It all came to me in a minute when 
you said Father couldn’t tell us apart. We’ll 
both go to school in the village, Mary Daw- 
son. And we’ll do it this way. I’ll go one 
month and you’ll go the next right straight 
through the year. I’ll teach you what I learn 
and you’ll teach me what you learn. Isn’t that 
the splendidest plan ?” 

“Ye-es,” said Mary, “if — if we can, Rosie.” 

“You’re always if-fing, Mary,” cried Rose 
impatiently. “Of course we can and of course 
we will. We’ve just got to get an education 
and this is the only way. By next year maybe 
you’ll get Aunt Mary’s leg-a-cy, or whatever it 
is Father talks about. But we’ll start in. Cyn- 
thy’ll make us some dresses out of Mother’s 
things. We’ll tell Cynthy all about it, of 
course. But we won’t need to tell Father.” 

“Father said he didn’t want to hear one 
more word about it,” said Mary. 

“Well, he needn’t,” said Rose. “We’ll have 


6 


Rosemary 


it for our secret — you and Cynthy and I. Oh, 
Mary, but it will be fun!” 

‘‘What’ll they think?” 

“Who?” 

“The children down t’ the village and the 
teacher.” 

“Why, goosie, they won’t know. No one 
knows us in the village, Mary. And there 
aren’t going to be two of us down there. From 
the minute we begin to get our education 
there’ll be only one of us, and she’s ” 

“Who?” cried Mary, now almost as much 
excited as her twin. 

“Rosemary Dawson,” chanted Rose. 

Everything that possibly could had turned 
golden that soft, warm September morning. 
The corn, still uncut, in the fields about the 
village, the stubble where the grain had been, 
the early apples, the few hurrying little maple 
leaves slanting down in the sunshine and the 
goldenrod everywhere. 

In the primary room of the Sugar River 
schoolhouse the children wriggled and twisted 
and buzzed and hummed. All at once Polly 
Ames giggled. A freckled boy near her ducked 
his head and shook with glee. Then a sudden 


Rosemary Begins School 


7 


wave of laughter rippled across the hot room. 

*What is it?’' asked Miss Bonnie. 

^'It’s a old white horse,” cried the freckled 
boy. “And I guess she wants to come to 
school, Miss Bonnie. She’s a-sticking her nose 
in the window.” 

There was another ripple of laughter. 

“It’s my horse,” said a voice clearly. “And 
I ’spect she’s lonesome for me.” 

The voice belonged to the little new girl with 
the yellow braids whom nobody knew. 

“Are you Rosemary Dawson?” asked Miss 
Bonnie. 

“Yes’m.” 

“What is your horse doing in the school 
yard ?” 

“You see,” said Rose frankly, “it’s this way. 
I live three miles from here on the hill. But 
I’ve got to get an education. Aunt Mary and 
Aunt Rose and Cynthy all think so. So I’m 
going to ride Old Fan every morning to school. 
I bring her dinner. But, you see, I hadn’t time 
this morning to find a place for her to stay. 
I thought she’d be all right ” 

A glad whinney from Old Fan finished 
Rose’s long speech. And there she was stretch- 


8 Rosemary 

ing her long white head in the window toward 
Rose. 

‘Tie her up somewhere where she won't 
hear your voice," said Miss Bonnie severely. 

Slowly Rose led Old Fan up the street — 
the same street they had come down earlier 
that morning. It led across a bridge, past a 
small white church, on between neat houses, 
till it joined the road which led away into the 
country up the hills — home. 

When Rose came to this corner she drew a 
long breath. Old Fan tugged at the bridle. 
She wanted to go home. 

“ 'Deed we'll not go home," cried Rose. 
‘That's no way to get an education, Fanny. 
You take a drink while I think what to do." 

A buggy drawn by a fat brown horse came 
up to the watering trough. In the buggy was 
an old man with white hair and shaggy, white 
eyebrows. 

“Uncheck my horse, will you?" he said, 
“and don't mind my voice. Doesn't seem to 
belong to me. Somebody else got mine, may- 
be." 

Rose looked up. Then she smiled. The old 
man's eyes were dark and merry like a boy's. 


Rosemary Begins School 9 

‘‘I like it/’ she said. sounds as if it would 
like to chuckle if it only knew how.” 

Then the old man did chuckle — the gruffest 
kind of a chuckle. 

‘^Why aren’t you in school?” he asked. 

Once more Rose told her story. “But I 
never thought of Fanny’s looking me up,” she 
cried. 

“I like Fanny,” said the old man. “And I 
like Rosemary Dawson. Six miles a day to 
get an education. How long do you think 
you’ll stick to it, eh?” 

“Oh, I’ll stick to it,” laughed Rose. “ ’Deed 
I will.” 

“Tell you what,” cried the old man. “Just 
as long as you do. I’ll give Old Fan a good 
place to stay in my barn up there.” He waved 
his hand toward a house and barn which stood 
at the top of a hill just across the street. “I’m 
William Brown of the School Board. I’ve 
got a grandson who isn’t as anxious to go 
to school as Rosemary Dawson is. Runs 
away if I don’t keep an eye on him. Know 
Billy?” 

“Has he got eyes just like yours?” cried 
Rose. And frecklesr 


10 


Rosemary 


Mr. Brown threw back his head and laughed 
— a big gruff laugh. 

‘"Biggest freckles the sun ever made/' he 
cried. 


CHAPTER II 

BILLY SEES DOUBLE 

‘‘Hi, Rosemary, Rosemary Da-awson 

A long shrill call, half whistle, half shriek, 
brought Mary to a trembling standstill. 

It was her first morning as Rosemary Daw- 
son. She was running just as fast as she 
could down the hill from Mr. Brown’s, hoping 
she wouldn’t meet any one. She knew the 
dreadful whistle behind her belonged to Billy. 

Rose had spent all their spare time for a 
week drilling Mary in her part as Rosemary. 
Her last words that morning had been: 

“Whatever you do, Mary, don't let Billy 
Brown know that you’re afraid of him. If 
you do, you’ll be sorry!” 

These words made Mary more than ever 
afraid of Billy. When he overtook her, she 
didn’t even look at him. Mary couldn’t be 
quite sure that every one wouldn’t know she 
11 


12 


Rosemary 


wasn’t Rose. She didn’t feel a bit like her. 
How could she look like her? Besides, Billy 
was a boy. And if there was anything in this 
big new school world of which Mary was 
afraid it was boys. 

“In a hurry, aren’t you, Rosemary Da-aw- 
son?” Billy was saying. “I’ve got some news 
for you. Hallowe’en’s coming.” 

The last three words Billy shrilled into 
Mary’s right ear in a creepy whisper. 

“ ’Tisn’t till the very last day of October,” 
said Mary. She tried to speak exactly like 
Rose. She knew she didn’t by the way Billy 
stared at her. “That’s four weeks and one day 
off.” 

“Huh, that isn’t long,” said Billy. “Not 
when you’ve got to get ready for it. Such 
things as the M. S. will think up you never 
heard of. What I want to know is, do you 
want to join or don’t you?” 

“The M. S.?” said Mary. 

“Yep,” said Billy, “the Mysterious Seven. 
We decided on the name Saturday. Polly and 
Norah and Laura are in it and you can be, if 
you want to. There’ll be one more girl than 
boy, but I’ll do for two.” Billy grinned. 


Billy Sees Double 


13 


‘‘Oh deary-dear, no!’^ cried Mary. “Fd 
much rather not — please.’^ 

“Just as you like, of course,’’ said Billy 
loftily. “We’re still the M. S., ’cause S means 
six as well as Seven. Asked you ’cause you 
said you wanted to be in all the fun going.” 

“I don’t want to be in any Mysterious 
Seven,” said Mary. 

Just here Mary and Billy turned the corner, 
and were run into by Billy’s grandfather. He 
was puffing along like a tug-boat on dry land. 

“Well, bless my stars, here you are, Billy!” 
he said. “I was just looking you up. But if 
Rosemary Dawson’s got you in tow, I guess 
you’re on the road to an education, all 
right.” 

Mr. Brown smiled at Mary. But his eyes 
seemed to look right through her. And his eye- 
brows were so bushy and his voice was so big 
and gruff that Mary was almost as afraid 
of him as she was of Billy. She was glad when 
he had gone on his way and Billy had run 
shrieking off with some boys. But she had 
scarcely gone ten steps alone when she was 
pounced upon by three little girls, who dragged 
her along, all talking and laughing together. 


14 


Rosemary 


Mary knew them at once. The red-headed 
one, whose words were so mixed up with gig- 
gles you couldn’t be sure what she said, was 
Norah Perry. The black-eyed roly-poly one 
was Polly Ames — Polly Question Point, every 
one called her. The tall, fair one, whose hair 
was fluffed about her face and tied with pretty 
blue ribbons, was Laura Lee. 

There was such a hubbub of talk, which 
sounded like Queen Ferdinand and King Isa- 
bella and Columbus discovering Spain and 
Indians aboard the Pinta, that Mary wasn’t 
sure of anything until she found herself in the 
school-room — the center of a group of excited 
boys and girls about Miss Bonnie’s desk. 

We’ve brought her,” cried Polly Question 
Point. ‘‘And we’ve told her all about it — and 
she’ll be Queen Isabella.” 

“Will you, Rosemary?” said Miss Bonnie 
eagerly. 

“Say yes, Rosemary, quick,” cried Norah. 

“Why, I love to act things,” said Mary. For 
an instant she forgot all about Rosemary Daw- 
son. “Do you really mean me — or Rose?” 
Mary caught her breath. Nobody here knew 
there was a Rose. 


Billy Sees Double 


15 


'‘Rose?'' said Laura. “Rose isn't in our 
grade at all — she’s upstairs." 

“We're going to give this little Columbus 
Play all by ourselves," said Miss Bonnie. 

“I've always wished I could have helped 
Columbus discover America," cried Mary that 
night when she told Cynthy and Rose all about 
everything. “It will be just splendid to hand 
him my jewels and say, ‘Take these — buy 
ships — and sail across the unknown waters.' 
And Billy’s going to be King Ferdinand. His 
grandfather is so pleased — Billy never would 
take part in anything before. Harold is Colum- 
bus and Tom and Paul are Indians on the 
shore. Polly and Laura and Norah are court 
ladies. I've got to wear a train " 

“There's a red dress upstairs in your 
mother's trunk," said Cynthy, “with a long 
train." 

“The very thing !" cried Mary. “You'll help 
fit it to me, won’t you, Cynthy ? Then I won’t 
have to wear a red table-cloth train. And 
the yellow beads of Mother's and the pin with 
the shiny green stone and the red ring will be 
lovely jewels." 


16 


Rosemary 


‘‘I’d be scared stiff to do anything like that,” 
said Rose. “And you’re the bashful one of 
us, Mary.” 

“It’s when I’m myself that I’m bashful,” 
said Mary slowly. “When I’m Queen Isa- 
bella of Spain I forget all about Mary Daw- 
son.” 

“But you’ll be sorry as sorry you didn’t 
join the M. S.,” said Rose. “It’s going to be 
a be-you-ti-ful club. Billy’ll think Rosemary 
is a ’fraid cat.” 

Both twins had already grown to think of 
Rosemary Dawson almost as a third person. 

“I can’t help it,” said Mary. “I can’t play 
tricks on people — you know I can’t, Rosie.” 

“Maybe you can’t,” said Rose, “but some- 
thing’ll happen, you’ll see, Mary Contrary 
Dawson.” 

Under the Star Spangled Banner and the 
flag of proud old Spain the little Columbus 
play went off beautifully. Queen Isabella was 
so sweet and gracious with her jewels that the 
part had to be repeated several times. Billy’s 
grandmother had made him a long cloak of 
red flannel, trimmed with black and white fur. 


Billy Sees Double 


17 


And he made a fine King Ferdinand, if he did 
step on Queen Isabella’s train. 

Afterward, when Mary thought of Rose- 
mary’s first month in school, she always saw 
the hill-road red-gold in the morning when 
she and Old Fan went slowly down it; gold- 
red in the afternoon when they came swiftly 
back. But the last afternoon of all, there was 
no long leafy avenue leading toward the sun 
— only a gray blur of rain, across which tree- 
tops twisted and clouds scudded. 

Cuddled down close to the blazing fire that 
evening, Mary read her history book. From 
the kitchen came the sound of muffled snapping 
and popping. Suddenly Rose burst in. With 
her came the tempting odor of hot pop-corn. 

‘‘I’m going to take Father’s lantern,” she 
cried, “and go into the orchard after some 
apples to roast. You take a candle, Mary, and 
get some butternuts. Guess Rosemary Daw- 
son can have a Hallowe’en even if she isn’t an 
M. S.” 

Mary climbed the steep attic stairs. She 
filled the basin with nuts. Then she crossed 
to the window to see if Rose was in sight. A 
big wavering circle of light showed where the 


18 


Rosemary 


old lantern hung in a tree. And a rustling of 
boughs and thudding of apples told that Rose 
was busy. Mary was just about to call out 
to her, when down in the yard she saw some- 
thing white. 

Into the square of light made by the kitchen 
window came three figures. Two were In- 
dians, feathers, war-paint, and all. The third 
trailed a long red cloak, trimmed with fur. 
Each carried a sheet. But just what boys 
and sheets were going to do, Mary never knew. 
For in her anxiety to find out she leaned for- 
ward. Her foot hit the basin, it tipped, she 
grabbed for it, sent it flying, and with a clatter 
of nuts it fell straight down and rested, bot- 
tom side up, on the surprised head of King 
Ferdinand himself. He clapped his hands to 
his head, looked up, and his crown fell with a 
ringing crash on the stones of the driveway. 

But instead of doing any of the things Billy 
would be expected to do, he took to his heels. 
And with one startled look upward, the In- 
dians followed. Falling and getting up again, 
screaming and scrambling, their sheets flapping 
about them like great white wings, all three 
disappeared into the darkness. 


Billy Sees Double 


19 


‘'Billy looked scared/' said Mary, looking 
scared herself at the very thought, when she 
told Rose all about it in the kitchen. 

But Rose had fallen on the old lounge and 
was screaming with laughter. 

“Oh, Mary, Mary!" she cried when she 
could speak. “They came to play a joke on 
Rosemary Dawson, of course, and when they 
came by the orchard they saw her (that was 
me) up in a tree in a circle of light. That 
didn't frighten them any, and they came on, 
just as still, and then they saw her all over 
again up in the window (that was you). Don't 
you see? They saw two Rosemarys — and 
they think they saw double — or spooks — or 
witches — or something. Oh, Mary, why don't 
you laugh?" 

Mary laughed — a wavery little laugh. 

“To think of Billy's being afraid of meT 
she said. 


CHAPTER III 


THANKSGIVING ROSES 

When Rose came into the school-room the 
next morning, Mr. Hardy stood at Miss Bon- 
nie’s desk. 

“Here’s Qtieen Isabella now,” said Miss 
Bonnie. Then she called, “Rosemary.” 

Rose went to the desk. 

“Mr. Hardy’s pupils are going to give a 
Thanksgiving play,” said Miss Bonnie. “And 
he wants you to he a little Pilgrim maid.” 

“I — I don’t know,” hesitated Rose. “You 
see, Mr. Hardy, I can’t act things.” 

“You were a first rate Queen Isabella,” said 
Mr. Hardy, smiling down into Rose’s troubled 
face. 

“Do — and stay all night with me,” whis- 
pered Norah. 

“With me — with me, please,” pleaded Polly 
Question Point. 


20 


Thanksgiving Roses 21 

‘'You promised me,” said Laura, slipping 
her arm through Rose’s. “And, anyhow, 
my mother’s going to ask you for Thanksgiv- 
ing.” 

“All right,” said Mr. Hardy. “Rosemary 
will be Desire. And you think Billy will be 
Love Brewster?” 

“If Rosemary asks him,” smiled Miss Bon- 
nie. 

“And now whatever do you think I’m going 
to do about it?” cried Rose that night, after 
she had told Mary and Cynthy all about every- 
thing. “I can’t act, and you know it.” 

“Oh, yes, you can,” cried Mary; “you can’t 
help it, Rose ; it will be so lovely to be Desire 
Minter. Cynthy and I’ll make you a dear little 
gown out of that bluish stuff in Mother’s trunk, 
and a white cap and kerchief.” 

“Desire speaks six times,” said Rose, spread- 
ing out her lines. “And Billy three.” 

“What a fat, funny Love Billy’ll be !” cried 
Mary. “What did he say about it last night, 
Rosie?” 

“He’d hurt his foot running home, so he 
wasn’t in school,” said Rose. “His grand- 
father came to explain, so Miss Bonnie’d know 


22 


Rosemary 


he hadn’t run away again. His grandfather 
says he can’t keep Billy out now — since Rose- 
mary Dawson began her education. I went 
to see him after school, and, Mary, he looks 
sort of scared yet. I helped him do his ’rith- 
metic, and he said he’d be Love, but he’d 
rather be Wrestling whatever-his-name-was. 
He didn’t say a word about seeing two Rose- 
maries, and I didn’t. I’d hate to have Billy 
know we are so poor only one of us can go 
to school at a time.” 

don’t mind being poor one bit,” said 

Mary. 

You’d mind — if Billy knew about it, and 
teased you,” said Rose. “He’s the worst tease. 
He’s the one who began calling Polly Tolly 
Question Point’ ’cause her nose turns up and 
she asks so many questions. I wouldn’t have 
Billy find out about there being two of us for 
— anything, Mary. We’d never hear the last 
of it.” 

“Well, I sha’n’t tell him — you needn’t worry. 
Rose,” said Mary. 

“Laura’s mother has asked me to spend 
Thanksgiving and Friday and Saturday and 
Sunday with Laura,” said Rose, still gloomy. 


Thanksgiving Roses 


23 


'‘But my time of being Rosemary Dawson is 
up Thursday night, so I shall come home 
then.’" 

"Oh, no!” cried Mary. "You’ll stay and 
have the loveliest time ! And you can tell me 
all about it afterward. There isn’t any more 
school that week, anyhow, so it won’t put 
Rosemary back any in her education.” 

Rose shook her head. 

"I can’t think of anything’s being any fun 
till that play is over,” she said. 

When the morning of the day came. Rose 
was as cross as so sweet a Rose possibly could 
be. 

"I can’t do it well,” he said. "Miss Bonnie 
is worried — I know she is. And I heard Mr. 
Hardy say to her, T thought you said she 
could act.’ It’s all your fault, Mary Dawson. 
You oughtn’t to have let Rosemary begin to 
act things when you knew she couldn’t keep it 
up.” 

"How did I know they’d want her to act 
again?” cried Mary, almost in tears. 

"You might have known they would if you 
did it so well,” snapped Rose. "Even Billy 
laughs 


24 Rosemary 

“He likes you best, though,” said Mary com- 
fortingly. 

“Huh!” Rose cast herself upon the old 
lounge, whose broken spring groaned with her. 
“How can he like one of us any better than 
the other when he can't tell us apart? Oh, 
dear! it's dreadfully hard work being twins 
and getting both of us educated.” 

“I know it,” said Mary. “I wish, just as 
Father does, that there had been only one of 
us and that one had been a boy. But I'll tell 
you what I’ll do — if — if you want me to, 
Rosie. I'll be Desire for you to-night.” 

Rose sat up and stared at her twin. 

“Mary Dawson,” she cried, “do you think 
I'm a coward ?” 

But before Mary could do more than shake 
her head at such a thought, she went on, 
“ 'Cause if you do, I'm not. I can't act — any- 
thing. But I’m not a coward. And when I’m 
Rosemary Dawson I’ll do what she has to do 
— so there.” 

And she did. She was a very frightened 
stiff little Desire Minter. And although Polly 
Question Point told Norah and Norah thought 
so too — that she wasn't nearly as good as she 


Thanksgiving Roses 


25 


had been when she was Queen Isabella, still 
her audience was pleased. She had to go out 
before the curtain, dragging a red-faced un- 
willing Love along with her. And when some- 
body sent her a big bunch of red roses, she 
pinned one on his jacket and they left the stage 
to much cheering. 

When it was time to go to sleep that night, 
somewhere or other inside of her a voice kept 
saying ^^Mary!” At la*st, do what she could. 
Rose had to hear it. And the voice told her 
all about a little room tucked in under the 
eaves of an old farmhouse where there was 
nothing pretty and pink and white like Laura’s 
room — except Mary, sound asleep — all alone! 
Then it went on to say how good and patient 
Mary had been drilling her in her part as De- 
sire, and how she, really, ought to have the 
red roses and the fun of being with Laura. 
Then it talked a long time about how she 
couldn’t see Mary until Sunday night and it 
counted up the days and there were four of 
them and three nights after this one. By that 
time, probably, the roses would be faded. 
And even though, at last. Rose went to sleep, 
all night long in her dreams, the voice said, 


26 


Rosemary 


‘‘Mary! Mary! Mary!” over and over and 
over. And in the morning when she woke up 
she grabbed Laura and cried, “Mary!” 

“Why, Rosemary,” cried Laura, waking up 
suddenly, “you’re crying in your sleep.” 

Laura’s home was lovely and everything and 
everybody in it were lovely. But the sight of 
the red roses on the breakfast table brought a 
great lump into Rose’s throat, so she could 
scarcely eat. Then when she and Laura peeped 
into the oven where the turkey was sizzling 
and browning, and when they looked, a tip- 
toe, at the big pumpkin and mince pies on the 
pantry shelves, the lump grew so big it almost 
choked her. 

If only Mary 

“I’m going out in the yard a minute,” she 
said. 

“All right,” said Laura happily. “I’d go, 
too, only I must dress Donnie and Davie. 
Don’t stay long, will you, ’cause just as soon 
as they’re ready I’m going to put on my red 
gown and slippers. And, oh, please, Rose- 
mary, will you wear your dear little Desire 
gown, with the cap and kerchief? It’ll be so 
lovely and old-timesy to have a real little Pil- 


Thanksgiving Roses 27 

grim maid take dinner with us. And there's 
going to be ice cream, Rosemary." 

Rose went out into the yard. She had no 
thought, except to get rid of the lump in her 
throat. But the sun shone gloriously; the 
wind raced and romped and drove everything 
before it. The sky was so bright the river 
smiled just to look at it. Little white cloud 
airships sped along and cast pretty shadows 
on the far-off hilltops. Before Rose knew 
what was happening she was running with 
the wind, up the pretty street where Laura 
lived, up the main street of the town, around 
the corner, past Billy’s, and on up the hill road. 
She heard Billy’s shrill whistle. She heard him 
call ‘^Rosemary — Rosemary Dawson!’’ 

But on and on and on she went, until, out 
of breath, she burst into the old living-room 
at home. 

Father was reading his paper. The boys 
were wrangling. 

‘‘Hullo,’’ said Father. “Got back in time 
to eat, did you?’’ 

“Where’s Mary?’’ gasped Rose. 

“Thought you were Mary,’’ said Father. 

“What made you come so soon. Rose?’’ said 


28 


Rosemary 


Cynthy from the kitchen. ‘‘Mary’s out in the 
orchard. She’ll be in in a minute. Help me 
dish up dinner.” 

All the time Rose ate chicken and pumpkin- 
pie she watched for Mary. But no Mary 
came, not even when the dishes were washed 
and put away. 

“Whatever’s become of that child?” Cynthy 
kept saying. Rose could stand it no longer. 
Bare-headed she ran out-of-doors. 

She had just come to the turn in the road 
below the farmhouse, when away down the 
road she saw a small .figure. It wore a blue 
gown, a white kerchief and a white cap. It 
carried a satchel and a great bunch of crimson 
roses. 

“Mary!” cried Rose. 

“Rose!” came back shrilly. 

Half way down the hill they met. 

“I’ve had the most dreadful time,” said 
Mary. “And I don’t know whether I’m Mary 
or Rose. And I hate Rosemary Dawson.” 

“Where have you been?” cried Rose. 

“Laura’s.” 

“Laura’s?” 

Mary nodded. 


Thanksgiving Roses 


29 


*'1 missed you so, Rose,’’ she said. ‘‘I just 
had to go outdoors. And first I know I was 
running cross-lots. I came out back of Laura’s 
by the river. She was out looking for Rose- 
mary.” 

‘'What did she say when she found there 
were two?” cried Rose. 

“She didn’t find out,” said Mary. “She 
made me go right in and put on the Desire 
things and eat dinner, and everybody thought I 
was you — don’t you see ? I couldn’t eat much 
— ’cause I couldn’t think what had become of 
you and I didn’t dare ask. And after dinner 
Billy came, and we played Desire and Love 
out of the play. And when we sang ‘Auld 
Lang Syne’ I just had to come home. Laura 
said I couldn’t. But Laura’s mother seemed 
to know I couldn’t stay. She packed my 
satchel. And I came. But where were you, 
Rosie?” 

“Home,” said Rose. “I was just as home- 
sick as you were, Mary, only more so, ’cause 
you hadn’t been cross, and I had.” 

“You hadn’t,” said Mary. “If anybody was 
cross, it was Rosemary Da-awson, as Billy 
says.” 


30 


Rosemary 


Rose dropped the satchel she was carrying 
and stared at Mary. 

‘^Mary!’' she cried, '‘Billy knew Rosemary 
came home. He — he saw me when I ran by 
his house this morning!'^ 


CHAPTER IV 


'‘jinny 'n’ JOHN 'n’ the BABY” 

Cold as it was, with little hard flakes of 
snow pecking at your cheeks and chin, Mary 
let Old Fan take her own time up the hill. 
-Mary didn't mind the cold. Wasn’t the Christ- 
mas vacation just beginning? Wasn’t her 
heart so full of the story and glory of Christ- 
mas that she didn’t even know the outside 
world was cold and cheerless? 

"Wouldn’t it be too lovely. Old Fan?” she 
cried with a sudden glad little bounce on Old 
Fan’s back. 

Old Fan turned a surprised and questioning 
face upon Mary. 

"You dear funny old white thing!” cried 
Mary, hugging Old Fan. "I forgot you 
couldn’t hear thoughts. Don’t stop though — 
’cause I’m in such a hurry to get home to Rose 
and Cynthy. I was only thinking how per- 
31 


32 


Rosemary 


fectly lovely ’twould be if only Aunt Mary 
Craig was like other folks’ Aunt Maries and 
sent out big, big Christmas boxes. But I might 
just as well wish you’d turn into an auto- 
mobile ” 

Old Fan suddenly gave a mincing sidestep. 
If she had not been so old and so staid you 
would have said she shied. 

Mary was so surprised that she nearly shot 
over the old white head into the road. 

'"Did I hurt your feelings, Fanny?” she 
cried. ‘‘Why, I wouldn’t give you up for all 
the automobiles ” 

“Merry Tristmas,” said a small, clear voice. 

Mary looked down at the frozen roadside. 
There, drawn up, one just back of the other, 
were three small children. 

“Who — are — you?” gasped Mary. She 
hopped down from Old Fan’s back and knelt 
in the road before the children. 

“Jinny ’n’ John ’n’ the Baby,” said the three 
all in one breath. 

“Jinny ’n’ John ’n’ the Baby whatf cried 
Mary. “What’s your last name?” 

If you hadn’t seen John peering out from 
behind Jinny, you would have thought Jinny 


‘‘Jinny ’n' John 'n^ the Baby^' 33 


was a baby herself. And if you hadn’t seen 
the Baby peering out from behind John, you 
would have known John was a baby. As it 
was, they were like nothing so much as the 
Christmas boxes Mary and Laura had seen 
that night at Ames’ store. The boxes fitted 
one inside another, and as fast as you opened 
one you found another just a size smaller 
inside. And Jinny and John and the Baby all 
wore funny, long, straight dark green coats, 
round scarlet caps tied down over their ears, 
scarlet mittens, and scarlet leggings. On each 
one was pinned a sprig of holly. 

“Where did you come from?” coaxed Mary. 
“Tell Mary — she’ll take you home.” 

“Ov’ there,” said Jinny. She waved a red 
mitten vaguely toward the village. 

But John, with a loud “Toot! Toot! Toot!” 
was off down the road, arms and legs working. 
If ever there was a whole train of cars, engine 
and all, John was it at this minute. 

“On the train?” cried Mary wonderingly. 
“Did you. Jinny?” 

Jinny nodded. 

*'And wagon,” she said. 

“What wagon?” cried Mary. 


34 


Rosemary 


‘‘It rattled and banged,’’ said Jinny. 

And all in a minute, John had turned him- 
self into a big horse that threw up his head 
and dashed wildly along, hauling a heavy 
load. 

“The express wagon?” said Mary, bewil- 
dered. 

“We crawled in — and we crawled off,” said 
Jinny, with big eyes. 

“But where are you going?” 

“Home,” said Jinny, with a sudden quiver 
of her lips. 

“You poor dear little things,” cried Mary. 
“You look as if Santa Claus had dropped you, 
holly and all, straight out of his pack. It’s 
so cold — and it’s going to snow — Mary’ll take 
you to her home now. Then — after supper — 
we’ll find yours.” 

“Supper,” cried Jinny, her eyes like Christ- 
mas stars. 

“Thupper,” lisped John, turning quickly 
from a strong horse to a small hungry boy. 

“Thup,” cooed the Baby. 

Mary caught up the Baby and kissed her 
and hugged her. Meanwhile Jinny hugged 
Mary on one side and John hugged her on 


‘‘Jinny ^n’ John *n^ the Baby’’ 35 


the other. And both tried to climb up into 
her arms. 

“I can’t carry you all at once,” said Mary. 
“But Old Fan can. Just you wait — I’ll boost 
you up on her back — come on.” 

But, when they came to look, there was no 
Old Fan anywhere to be seen. 

“She got tired out waiting for her supper,” 
said Mary, “so she’s just gone on home. There 
she goes — ’way up the road. Well, we’ll have 
to walk. ’Tisn’t very far. I’ll take Baby. 
Jinny, you help John along.” 

Mary cuddled the Baby. And they all set 
out along the frozen road. But first Jinny fell 
down and bumped her nose. Then John fell 
down and bumped his nose. Then they both 
fell down at once and there were more bumps 
and more sobs. 

“Oh, deary-dear!” said Mary; “I wish Rose 
was here. She always knows just what to do. 
You’re tired and cold and hungry and every- 
thing, I suppose. But the only thing to do is 
to keep right on going — I can’t carry any more 
of you. Why doesn’t the Baby cry? Is there 
anything the matter with her?” 

“Sleep,” wailed Jinny, a sob before and a 


36 


Rosemary 


sob after the word, as she stumbled along. 

'‘Thleep,” said John. ‘Wist I wath.” 

“If only I knew where you came from or 
where you are going, said Mary. 

But there was only another chorus of sobs, 
mixed up with “Jinny ’n’ John ^n' the Baby,^* 
over and over again. 

“You really mustn’t,” said Mary. “Why, if 
Father should hear you, or the boys, I don’t 
know what they’d say. Let’s play something. 
I know — I’ll play I’m Santa Claus and you 
are Christmas boxes I’m taking to that farm- 
house up there to put in the folks’ stock- 
ings.” 

“Too big,” said Jinny. 

“Too big,” echoed John. 

“We’ll play you’re just exactly the right 
size,” said Mary firmly. “One of you shall 
go in Cynthy’s stocking — Jinny, I think; and 
John shall go in Rose’s — she loves boys. And 
I’ll put the Baby in Mary’s — I’m Mary myself 
when I’m not Santa Claus.” 

But this distribution of Christmas boxes was 
so far from pleasing that howls again arose. 
It was a weeping, wailing crowd that finally 
crawled up the last hill and turned into the 


Jinny 'n^ John ^n^ the Baby^^ 37 


yard of the old farmhouse. Mary was almost 
crying herself. She didn’t even wait for the 
small flying figure coming down the cross-road 
from the mail-box, even though it waved a let- 
ter at her. She pushed open the door, plumped 
the Baby into Cynthy’s arms, thrust Jinny and 
John into the big rocker, and fell on the floor 
in a breathless heap herself. 

“Land o’ mercy I” cried Cynthy. “What’s 
all this?” 

“Jinny ’n’ John ’n’ the Baby,” gasped Mary. 

At this minute Rose burst in. 

“Why didn’t you wait, Mary?” she began. 
“I’ve been over to the letter-box and here’s a 
letter for you from Aunt Mary Craig — whose 
are those babies?” 

“Christmas presents,” cried Mary, getting 
her breath, with a laugh. “Jinny ’n’ John ’n’ 
the Baby — do please stop crying — who’ll want 
you in their stockings? Jinny’s for you, Cyn- 
thy. You can have John, Rose. And the 
Baby ” 

Here the door opened and into the hubbub 
came Father. 

“What’s all this ?” he began sternly. 

John stopped crying. He crawled down 


38 


Rosemary 


from his chair, walked across the floor, and 
held out his hand to Father. 

‘^How-de-do,’’ he said sweetly. ‘Tleath may 
I go into your Tristmath Thocking?’’ 

When Father actually picked up John and 
walked with him to the old lounge, Mary 
gasped. 

‘'So you have a letter from your Aunt 
Mary?’’ said Father, quite as if nothing had 
happened. “Open it — maybe she’s sent some 
of your legacy now.” 

Studying out the scrawly writing that looked 
like a man’s, with Cynthy’s help, Mary read 
aloud : 

**Dear Niece Mary, 

“I hope you have been to school long 
enough so that you can read this letter for 
yourself. It is to tell you that I am sending 
you three small Christmas gifts. They are 
so bright and pretty. I’m sure they will 
please you. Use them well. What you do 
with them will prove to me what kind of 
girl you are, and whether or not I may 
trust you with other gifts. 

“I am closing my house now for the win- 


‘‘Jinny 'n^ John ’n^ the Baby^' 39 


ter. When I come back in March, I shall 

hope to have a letter from you. 

‘^Affectionately yours, 

“Mary Craig.” 

“I just hate people who say, ‘Affectionately 
yours,’ ” said Rose. “And where are your 
Christmas gifts I’d like to know?” 

“Where did you find these children, Mary ?” 
asked Father suddenly. 

As best she could, with wails from Jinny 
and John and the Baby, Mary told. After 
leaving the train, the children had evidently 
come through the village in the express wagon, 
and somehow or other had found the hill 
road and Mary. 

“Just like Mary Craig,” said Father. He 
took the letter from Mary and read it again. 
“Gone away until March — no one knows 
where. Always was doing the most unheard 
of things. Shipped these babies to you — it’s 
a wonder they ever got here — but they did.” 

“Father,” cried Mary, “do you mean — does 
the letter mean — that Aunt Mary Craig has 
sent Jinny ’n’ John ’n’ the Baby to me?” 

“Looks like it, doesn’t it?” said Father 
grimly. 


CHAPTER V 


ROSEMARY GOES INTO BUSINESS 

‘"Cynthy/’ said Mary suddenly. 

Cynthy was mending at one side of the 
table. Mary was doing something with a piece 
of paper and a stubby pencil. Jinny and John 
were sliding down hill in the backyard. The 
Baby was asleep. 

“Well?’’ said Cynthy. 

“Do you think we could spare all the eggs 
my twelve hens will lay through January?” 

“Well,” said Cynthy again, as she threaded 
her needle, “with all the good layers we have 
besides yours, I should think we might. But 
what on earth do you want of eggs, Mary?” 

“I’ve been calculating,” said Mary. “If I 
could get eight eggs every single day for thirty 
days. I’d have two hundred and forty eggs — 
that’s twenty dozen. And if I could sell them 
for thirty cents a dozen I’d have six dollars. 

40 


Rosemary Goes Into Business 41 


And the coat is six dollars, since it’s marked 
down.” 

‘"Coat?” said Cynthy. 

‘There’s a gray coat in Ames’ store that 
Rose wants dreadfully. She stops to look at 
it every day — almost. It is pretty, and if 
you can spare the eggs, I’ll get it for her birth- 
day — the last day of January, you know.” 

“Ask your father for the money,” said C)m- 
thy. 

“Father has so much extra expense now with 
Jinny ’n’ John ’n’ the Baby,” said Mary. “Be- 
sides, I’d love to give Rose a present all my- 
self.” 

Maybe Cynthy knew Father was in the 
kitchen. Mary didn’t, for her back was to- 
ward the open door. 

And just then Jinny ’n* John came in, wail- 
ing as usual. Cynthy and Mary had grown 
so used to their howls that they scarcely did 
more than say “Hush!” and “You’ll wake 
Baby!” But of course Jinny ’n’ John didn’t 
hush, and of course they did wake Baby. And 
the air was so full of wails and woes that 
such things as coats and eggs were forgot- 
ten. 


42 


Rosemary 


That same night Cynthy and Rose were 
washing and wiping the supper dishes. Father 
lay asleep on the lounge in the dark living- 
room. Mary was upstairs putting the babies 
to bed, her voice singing patiently, 

“The ground was all covered with snow one day,” 

mingled with the splash of Cynthy’ s dish- 
water. 

“Cynthy,” said Rose, softly, “do you s’pose 
we could spare all the eggs my twelve hens will 
lay this month?” 

Cynthy paused, both hands in the dish-water, 
to stare at Rose. 

“Are you Rose or Mary?” she asked. 

“Rose, of course,” said Rose. “It’s Mary 
always takes care of the children, when she’s 
here. I can’t do anything with them.” 

“What do you want of eggs?” asked Cyn? 
thy, beginning to splash again. 

“I’ve reckoned it all up,” said Rose. “If 
I could sell twenty dozen I’ll get this month, 
for thirty cents a dozen — ^that’s what Mr. 
Brown pays — I could get six dollars. And 
that’s just the price of the gray coat at Ames’ 
store that Mary wants so much.” 


Rosemary Goes Into Business 43 


Cynthy smiled queerly. 

‘‘Why not ask your father?” she said. 

“I did think of it,” said Rose. “He hasn’t 
had to buy us anything since we began school. 
But with Jinny ’n’ John ’n’ the Baby here, I 
knew it wouldn’t do any good. Besides, I 
want to earn it myself.” 

“We can spare the eggs all right,” said 
Cynthy. 

Next morning, after she had tied Old Fan 
in her stall and blanketed her warmly. Rose 
met Mr. Brown puffing up the steps that led 
from the street to his yard. 

“Oh, Mr. Brown,” she cried, “you send eggs 
to the city, don’t you?” 

“When I can get any — ^got some to sell, 
Rosemary Dawson?” 

“I want to sell all my twelve hens will lay 
this month,” said Rose. 

“I’ll take them and give you thirty cents a 
dozen,” said Mr. Brown briskly. “Going in- 
to the egg business?” 

“For a while,” dimpled Rose. Then she 
grew confidential, as she often did with Mr. 
Brown. “You see, Rosemary Dawson needs 
a new coat. See how shabby her old one is ?” 


44 


Rosemary 


“ ^Tisn’t heavy enough for this weather/^ 
said Mr. Brown. ‘‘Bring along the eggs, Rose- 
mary Dawson, as many as you can.^^ 

That same noon, waiting for him in the 
snowy path, at the foot of the steps, Mr. 
Brown again found Rosemary Dawson. 

“Mr. Brown,” she said timidly, “do you send 
eggs to the city?” 

Mr. Brown stared. 

“Of course I do,” he said gruffly. 

Mary looked frightened. 

“I have twelve hens, Mr. Brown,” she said, 
“and I think I can get about twenty dozen eggs 
this month — if — if ” 

“I’ll take them — I’ll take them,” said Mr. 
Brown. “And give you thirty cents a dozen. 
Didn’t I say I would? Then you can buy 
that new coat.” 

It was Rosemary’s turn to stare now. How 
did Mr. Brown know about the coat? She 
wished his voice wasn’t so big — she would have 
liked to ask him. When she told Cynthy, Cyn- 
thy laughed. 

“Maybe he saw how shabby your old one 
was,” she suggested. But when Mary had 
hurried away to quiet Jinny ’n’ John ’n’ the 


Rosemary Goes Into Business 45 


Baby, Cynthy added to herself, ‘‘Guess before 
Mr. Brown gets forty eggs from Rosemary 
Dawson he’ll think he’s seeing double, just as 
Billy did that night.” 

Whatever Mr. Brown thought, he kept quiet. 
Each Saturday morning Rosemary arrived 
with her eggs and was paid. Some time be- 
fore night she arrived again with more eggs, 
and was paid again. The first Rosemary al- 
ways dimpled and laughed. The second one 
was timid and in a great hurry. 

So the January days blew across the snowy 
hills. And Old Fan carried Rosemary Daw- 
son up and down, up and down, the drifted 
hill road. Only one important thing happened 
to her in school. She was asked again to be- 
come a member of the M. S. She accepted 
at once, and became a very active member in- 
deed, greatly to poor Mary’s sorrow. 

“What will she do next month?” she cried. 
“I know. I know. She’ll ask the M. S. to get 
up a little play!” 

At last the birthday morning arrived. It 
was a brilliant blue and white day, with the 
snow creaking at every step. Mary hurried 
through her work. But it was almost noon 


46 


Eosemary 


when she entered Mr. Ames’ store and asked 
for the gray coat. 

‘‘I sold it yesterday, Rosemary,” said Mr. 
Ames. 

Mr. Ames was still thinking of Rosemary’s 
sorry eyes when he saw her coming back. 
Her eyes weren’t sorry any more, but danc- 
ing in time to the dimple which came and 
went. 

‘There,” she cried, laying four one dollar 
bills and two dollars in change on the counter, 
“there’s the money — and I want the gray coat 
— right away, please.” 

“But I told you it was sold !” said Mr. Ames. 

“Oh, dear!” cried Rosemary. “Why, it just 
can’t be, Mr. Ames.” 

“But it is,” said Mr. Ames. 

“How strange of her to come back,” he said 
to Mrs. Ames that night when he told her all 
about the gray coat. “Perhaps she wanted me 
to know she had the money for it.” 

That same night, after much singing and 
trotting and coaxing. Jinny ’n’ John ’n’ the 
Baby had dropped off to sleep. Mary went 
slowly down stairs. In the living-room at 
the foot of the stairs, waiting for her, was 


Rosemary Goes Into Business 47 


Rose. Both looked as if they had been crying 
not so very long ago. 

‘‘Mary/’ said Rose, “I tried so hard to get 
the gray coat for Rosemary — but — but — it was 
sold!” 

“You tried, Rose?” cried Mary. “Why, so 
did I — and it was sold.” 

“Yes, and you both went at it exactly in the 
same way,” laughed Cynthy, looking up from 
John’s stocking, which she was mending. 

“First, could you have the eggs — then Mr. 
Brown — then Mr. Ames — then both came to 
me to tell me the coat was gone. Such twins 
there never were — and never will be ” 

“Mary,” cried Rose, “did you go to Mr. 
Brown too?” 

Mary nodded. 

“And to Mr. Ames?” 

Again Mary nodded. 

“What will they think?” cried Rose. 

“Think?” said Cynthy. “They’ll think 
they’ve seen double, maybe. What I want to 
know is, what you’ll think when you see what’s 
on the table.” 

And there on the table was the gray coat. 

“Did Aunt Mary send one?” cried Mary. 


48 


Rosemary 


‘'Guess again/' said Cynthy, trailing stock- 
ings behind her as she came to look on at the 
fun. 

“Aunt Rose?" 

“Guess again." 

“Did you buy it, Cynthy?" 

“Guess again." 

“Mr. Brown?" said Rose doubtfully. 

Still Cynthy shook her head. 

“Cynthy," said Mary, “was it — it wasn't, 
was it ? — Father 

“It was," said Cynthy, “and he said it was 
for the one who goes to school." 

“Oh, oh, oh!" cried the twins, hugging the 
coat and each other. 

“Which one's going to have it?" asked 
Cynthy. 

“Rosemary Dawson!" they cried in one 
breath. 


CHAPTER VI 


rosemary's tea party 

Great was the excitement in the primary 
grade of the Sugar River School when, on the 
morning of February twenty-second, the room 
was found to be prettily decorated in honor 
of the day. And then it came out that almost 
since sun-up the members of the M. S. had been 
busy putting up flags, draping red, white, and 
blue bunting, and hanging pictures of George 
Washington. 

‘'But how did you happen to?" cried Miss 
Bonnie, her cheeks as pink as the carnations 
Laura had brought her. 

“Rosemary Dawson," cried three proud lit- 
tle voices — Laura's and Norah's and Polly's. 

“Oh, no," said Mary. “'Deed I didn't. 
Miss Bonnie! Why, I haven’t any money to 
do such lovely things. I just said I thought 
it would be a good plan for the M. S. to do 
49 


50 


Rosemary 


something real nice just for once, instead of 
playing any more tricks on people. The others 
bought the things, and Laura’s mother helped 
and her sister Emily, and Polly’s mother, and 
even Mr. Hardy and Mr. Brown.” 

^Tt needs somebody, always, to think up the 
lovely things to do, Rosemary,” said Miss Bon- 
nie. 

‘Tshaw,” cried Billy, isn’t half of 

what Rosemary can think up. I never saw 
such a thinker as she has when once she gets 
it started. Just you wait till this afternoon. 
She’s made up a whole play — words and all. 
And the M. S. is going to give it.” 

'‘Emily helped me,” said Mary. 

Everybody hurried home at noon to get into 
the very best clothes he could find. The M. 
S. stayed, with locked doors, to make a few 
last important arrangements. 

When the boys and girls trooped back into 
the room the stage was all ready. On one 
end was a tiny round table. Its white cloth 
was trimmed with bunches of cherries. It was 
set with dainty old-time cups, silver spoons, 
and the dearest little teapot. Near the table, 
under the big flag, was a real little flax wheel 


Rosemary^s Tea Party 51 


which had been Laura’s great-grandmother’s 
when she was a girl. At the other side of the 
stage were three dry-goods boxes, one large, 
one small, and one middle-sized, "‘just like the 
three bears,” little Kitty Ross said delightedly. 
On each box, in red, white, and blue letters, 
was printed ‘T. E. A.” 

Before the play began the M. S. made some 
explanations. 

‘‘It isn’t just the way the history says,” said 
Mary. “But Laura’s mother says in a play 
that doesn’t matter.” 

“We girls are Daughters of Liberty,” said 
Norah, “and we’re going to spin yarn for 
homespun clothes.” 

“Then we’re going to drink tea,” said Polly. 

“Only ’tisn’t tea, really,” said Mary, 
“ ’cause, you know, the tea was taxed and the 
patriots wouldn’t drink it.” 

“Then along we will come,” cried Billy, 
“and dump the tea out of the chests into the 
water.” 

“That green rug is the water,” said Tom. 
“Mother lent it to us.” 

“There really isn’t anything in the boxes,” 
said Paul. 


52 


Rosemary 


‘'Now everybody understands about every- 
thing/' said Mary, “and we’ll begin. Oh, yes, 
you must all sing every time we do, whether 
you know the words or not.” 

So Mary, in a flowered gown of long ago, 
took her place back of the spinning wheel and, 
humming softly, began to spin just as Laura’s 
mother had shown her. Laura and Norah and 
Polly, all in quaint, pretty dresses, appeared 
and, singing, went to the party. Everybody 
knew the tune at once and the words were so 
simple they couldn’t help singing : 

^‘Three cheers for the brave little maids. 

Three cheers for the brave little maids, 

The Daughters — the Daughters of Liberty — 
Three cheers for the brave little maids !’* 

Laura and Norah and Polly took chairs near 
Mary, and, with no wheels, followed each mo- 
tion she made with her real one, all humming 
lightly to represent the sound of spinning. It 
was so pretty that everybody clapped hands 
and, before they were let off, the Daughters of 
Liberty had to spin a great deal of flax. 

After a little they began to talk about spin- 
ning and tea. Norah said decidedly that she 




f 




Rosemary^s Tea Party 53 


would drink boiled raspberry leaves. Mary 
sprang up and cried gayly, ‘‘Let’s show them 
right off this very minute that we won’t swal- 
low that old tax — even in our tea !” So away 
they went to the tea-table. With jingle of 
cups and spoons, Mary served the tea — which 
was nothing but water. They all raised their 
cups, clinked them lightly, and sang “Auld 
Lang Syne,” with a touch of red, white and 
blue in it to make it fitting. 

While they were clinking and drinking and 
singing, unseen by them, three fierce-looking 
Indians in feathers, war-paint, and moccasins, 
waving hatchets for tomahawks, stole stealth- 
ily out of a dark comer. 

They stooped and dodged, kept out of the 
light, reached the ship, and clambered aboard. 
With many a “Hist!” and “Sh-sh!” they ad- 
vanced to the chests. Each brawny red man 
laid hand upon a chest. At a signal they 
turned them around and tip-tilted them. Then 
with terrific war-whoops they tipped them 
overboard into the raging waters below. 

But with the casting of the tea into Boston 
Harbor there arose a bumping sound inside 
the chests. Before any one could do more 


54 


Rosemary 


than crane forward and say, ‘^Oh-oo-my-ee !’’ 
out from the chests tumbled three small red 
and green bundles, which rolled over and over 
and over, coming at last, right side up, with 
three-times-three sleepy, sobby wails and turn- 
ing out to be three small children. The next 
minute one little Daughter of Liberty, flow- 
ered-gown, cap, tea-cup, and all, had flung her- 
self into Boston Harbor among the crying ba- 
bies. 

"'Jinny ’n’ John the Baby, where did you 
come from?” she cried. 

"They’ll be drowned,” wailed Kitty from 
the front seat. Then everybody laughed — 
that is, everybody except Jinny ’n’ John ’n’ 
the Baby and poor Rosemary Dawson. 

It took Mary’s best efforts, together with 
Miss Bonnie’s and Laura’s and Mr. Hardy’s, 
who came downstairs to find out what had hap- 
pened in the primary grade, to quiet things 
down enough for explanations. 

At last one of Mary’s frantic "Where 
did you come froms?” was answered by 
John. 

"We cam-ed,” he said, "to find Ma-wy!” 

This piece of news was followed by more 


Rosemary^s Tea Party 55 

sobs mixed with ‘‘Ma-wys/^ which brought Mr. 
Hardy back with a box of chocolates. “Try 
these/' he said. 

With the aid of the sweets, much petting, 
and some little scoldings the wail finally died 
away. It was then found that Jinny 'n' John 
'n’ the Baby had walked the whole distance 
by themselves, had found the schoolhouse by 
its flag, and had come in just at noon when 
everybody was out of the primary room. See- 
ing the three empty boxes, John had put Jinny 
in one, the Baby in another and himself in 
the third to wait for Mary. Tired out, they 
had all fallen asleep. 

“Yen the Yindians cam-ed,” said John, with 
a glance over his shoulder at Billy. 

“But why did they ever do it, do you s'pose, 
Rosemary?" asked Polly for the dozenth 
time, as she and Billy and Norah and Mr. 
Brown hoisted and tied Jinny 'n' John 'n' the 
Baby behind Mary on Old Fan's back that 
night after school. 

“Wanted Ma-wy," said John. 

“Rothe was cwoss," said Jinny, her mouth 
full of chocolate. 

“Rothe is always cwoss," said John. 


56 Rosemary 

''Who is Rothef” asked Polly Question 
Point. 

"Rothe is Rothe and Ma-wy is Ma-wy/’ said 
John, one sticky hand grasping Mary’s arm. 

"But who is Rothe?” went on Polly. 

At that moment John slipped and pulled 
Jinny and the Baby almost off Old Fan’s back, 
so there was no answer. Old Fan and her 
load were well under way, when Polly Ques- 
tion Point remembered. 

"Rosemary,” she cried. 

Mary stopped Old Fan. As well as she 
could, she turned around, ,and asked, "What ?” 

*'Who is Rothe?” cried Polly. 

"Rose?” said Rosemary Dawson, a slow 
dimple coming into her cheek. "Rose ? Why, 
Rose is my sister, Polly!” 


CHAPTER VII 


rosemary’s found 

‘‘Mary,” cried Rose, hopping up and down 
in her hurry, “do put Baby down a minute and 
help find my language paper. I put it here on 
this very spot on this very table. And now 
it’s gone.” 

“You make me think of a plump robin red- 
breast, Rosie,” laughed Mary. She put Baby 
down on the sofa and began to hunt with Rose. 
“Red dress, gray coat, gray cap — and just 
full of hops” 

“You’d be full of hops, too, Mary, if you 
were in such a hurry as I am!” cried Rose. 
“It was all done^ — I copied it three times be- 
fore I could get it with just one blot. That 
was about the size of Billy’s biggest freckle, 
but Miss Bonnie would have been so glad to 
think Rosemary Dawson had only one blot.” 

“Oh, deary!” cried Mary. “Was it that 
57 


58 


Rosemary 


paper? John had it — he was making wind- 
mills. I saw the blot.’’ 

‘They are the worst children!” said Rose 
impatiently. “I just wish Aunt Mary Craig 
had ’em to bring up 1” 

“Everybody does but me,” said Mary sor- 
rowfully. “I can’t help loving them. But 
Father says if they don’t stop crying so, they’ll 
have to go back to Aunt Mary — all but John. 
I think Father loves John, Rose.” 

“He’d love us if we were boys,” said Rose 
gloomily, getting her books together. “But 
we aren’t, and we can’t help it. We’re doing 
the best we can by being just one girl in school. 
And sometimes it’s hard work.” 

“I know it,” said Mary. 

Rose and Old Fan flew down the hills so 
fast that Rose’s yellow braids, each with its 
scarlet bow, stood out behind like danger sig- 
nals of some sort. Rose tied Old Fan, forgot 
to give her the usual handful of oats to munch, 
rushed back, forgot to give her the usual three 
good-by love-pats, rushed back again, ran 
every step of the way to school, and fell breath- 
less into her seat just as the last ding, ding, 
dong of the big bell in the tower sounded forth. 


Rosemary^s Found 


59 


She hurried all the morning, swallowed her 
lunch, and, as she said, just ‘^scrabbled” her 
language lesson, so as to have it ready. For 
the primary language work came the first thing 
in the afternoon. 

She was holding the copy off to see if dis- 
tance made it any neater, when Billy, looking 
over her shoulder, giggled. 

‘‘May we know the joke, Billy?” said Miss 
Bonnie patiently. 

“Rosemary’s Found is so funny,” said Billy 
with another giggle. 

“Read it, please, Rosemary,” said Miss Bon- 
nie. 

Rose stood up. 

“It isn’t nearly as good as the one John made 
into a windmill,” she said. “That was about 
a man who had found a red cow. I made it 
like the ones in the paper, just as you said. 
Miss Bonnie. It had only one blot, and this 
has two.” 

“Read it, please,” said Miss Bonnie again. 

“ ‘Found,’ read Rose, ‘on the hill road, 

just below the John Dawson farm, on the 


60 


Rosemary 


Friday before Christmas, three small chil- 
dren — red and green ones — who answer to 
the names of Jinny ’n’ John ’n’ the Baby. 
Owner may have them and welcome. 

'Signed, Rosemary Dawson.’ ” 

‘'Your Found is good, Rosemary,” smiled 
Miss Bonnie. “I think, if Jinny and John and 
the Baby had really been lost, it might help 
some one to find them.” 

“ ’Tisn’t as good as the red-cow one was,” 
said Rose. She threw her Found into the 
waste basket and forgot all about it. Billy 
picked it out carefully, put it into his pocket, 
and forgot all about it, too. 

Winter lasted all through March that year. 
But on the next to the last day, up came a 
warm wind and rain. Snow banks melted 
while you watched. The roads became small 
rivers. Still the rain fell and the wind blew 
as if it had to get everything done that day 
or not at all. But just before school closed, 
with a mighty rush away went the wind into 
the north. In a twinkling little hard snow- 
flakes were falling, and streets and roads alike 
turned to glare ice. Mr. Brown was away 


Rosemary^s Found 


61 


from home ; but Mrs. Brown sent Billy running 
to meet Rosemary to tell her that she mustn’t 
try to go home, but must stay with them. 

Rose was just leaving the schoolhouse, with 
Polly and Norah and Laura, all falling down 
and getting up again about as fast as they 
could. And Rose had already promised to eat 
supper with Norah, sleep with Polly, and eat 
dinner the next day with Laura. 

Feeling quite left out of things, Billy slipped 
along home, his hands thrust in the pockets 
of his coat. Suddenly in one of them he felt a 
small piece of paper. It was Rosemary’s 
Found. 

''I’ll pay her off for not coming to our 
house,” chuckled Billy. 

That night. Rose and Norah, with the old 
lantern, set out for Polly’s house. They were 
just rounding an icy corner, when they met 
Polly coming after Rose. 

"I’ve got some news, girls,” she cried. 
"Somebody’s put Rosemary’s Found on our 
gate-post.” 

"My Found?” cried Rose. "Why, I threw 
it away.” 

But just here Polly’s gate-post came in 


62 


Rosemary 


sight. And there, at the very top, pasted on 
and frozen on, too, was the Found. Holding 
up the lantern, Polly read it. 

‘‘ ‘Red and green ones,’ ” she shouted, try- 
ing to make more noise than the wind, “ ‘who 
answer to the names of Jinny ’n’ John ’n’ the 
Baby,’ ” when somebody slipping down the 
street in the dark was blown violently into 
Rose. 

Rose sat down suddenly in a crusty snow- 
bank. In the light of the lantern the somebody 
proved a small, black-eyed woman, whom none 
of them knew. 

“What do you mean,” she cried, standing 
up as tall as she could over Rose, “by running 
into folks that way?” “And what do you 
mean,” she went on, turning like a small whirl- 
wind upon poor Polly, “by reading about Jinny 
’n’ John ’n’ the Baby?” 

“See for yourself,” said Polly Question 
Point. 

She held up the lantern. The woman read 
the Found aloud. Her voice grew more and 
more angry. 

“It’s only a joke,” said Norah gently. 

“A joke!” cried the angry little woman, 


Rosemary^s Found 


63 


turning, now, upon Norah. But just here the 
wind took matters into its own hands. It blew 
Polly into Norah and both into Rose, just get- 
ting to her feet. 

It dashed hard little kernels of snow into 
their faces. It laughed and shrieked at them, 
and went on its way, taking the black-eyed 
woman, still talking, along with it. 

^^Oh, oh, oh!” screamed Rose, when at last 
all three little girls were right side up again 
and the lantern was found. ‘‘What funny 
things do happen! I’ll just take that Found 
down before any one else gets angry over 
it.” 

But though she and Polly and Norah all 
fumbled up and down the post and all around 
it, the Found was not there. 

The last day of March was sweet and mild 
as any little lamb. Rose and Polly went to 
school early, and found Billy, earlier still, 
busy with his number work. 

“Billy,” began Rose. “Do you know how 
my Found got on Polly’s gate-post?” 

But before Billy could answer, or even Polly 
could get a question in, the door flew open, 
and into the school-room came a small, breath- 


64 Rosemary 

less, black-eyed woman. Polly and Rose knew 
her at once. 

‘‘Is Rosemary Dawson here?’’ she cried. 

“I’m Rosemary Dawson,” said Rose. 

“You wrote this paper, then,” said the 
woman. Before Rose’s eyes she waved a torn, 
crumpled paper. It was the Found. 

“I’m Mrs. Jinny Mason,” she went on. “I 
live at High Corners. I came last night on 
my way north looking up my children, who got 
lost last Christmas. But the children in this 
paper are my children. And here I’ll stay till 
I get ’em. Do you hear?” 

“Jinny ’n’ John ’n’ the Baby?” said Rose 
slowly. What was the woman talking about? 

“Yes, Jinny ’n’ John ’n’ the Baby,” cried the 
woman. “ ‘Three small children — red land 
green ones.’ What I want to know is, where 
are they ?” 

“The children in that Found are at home,” 
said Rose. “But please, Mrs. Mason, they’re 
not yours — they’re ours. Aunt Mary sent 
them.” 

“Don’t I know if I’ve lost my own chil- 
dren?” cried Mrs. Jinny Mason. “Haven’t I 
traveled, wild-like, up and down this railroad 


Eosemary’s Found 


65 


ever since Christmas looking for them? Tve 
looked everywhere but here. Didn’t they wan- 
der away while I was trimming up their bit 
of a tree? I followed them to the railroad fast 
enough — John’s always playing he’s an engine 
— he’s crazy after engines. They got aboard 
a train and got off again, somehow, if nobody 
did see ’em. I know they did — they’ll do 
anything, my Jinny ’n’ John ’n’ the Baby will,” 
she added proudly. 

“Aunt Mary ” began Rosemary again. 

“I don’t know anything about your Aunt 
Mary,” cried Mrs. Jinny Mason. “But if 
you’ve got my children I want ’em!” She 
reached out an angry hand toward Rose. 

But Billy, pale and determined, faced Mrs. 
Jinny Mason. 

“It’s my fault,” he said ; “I put that Found 
up for a joke.” 

“Joke!” cried Mrs. Jinny Mason. “It’s no 
joke to kidnap children. I’ll show you.” 

“Rosemary didn’t kidnap your children,” 
said Billy. “She took ’em home — it was that, 
or let ’em freeze.” 

“I want my children,” wailed Mrs. Jinny 
Mason, burying her face in her hands. 


66 


Rosemary 


‘‘Oh, she’s their mother, Billy !” cried Rose. 
‘They cry just like her. Hurry — ^help me get 
Old Fan. I’ll go right home and get ’em. Oh, 
dear — what will Mary do without those chil- 
dren? She loves ’em so!” 

Rose and Billy were off up the street, Mrs. 
Mason running after them, before even Polly 
could find her tongue. But when she did she 
flew after Mrs. Mason. 

“Rosemary!” she screamed. 

Rose paused a breathless minute. 

“Who is Mary?” screamed Polly. 

“Mary?” said Rose. “Mary? Why, Mary’s 
my sister, Polly!” 


CHAPTER VIII 


ALL ABOARD FOR AUNT MARY’s 

While things were happening to Rose at 
school, that next-to-the-last day of March, 
things were happening, too, to Mary at the 
old farmhouse. Everything — almost — that 
small children shouldn’t do. Jinny and John 
and the Baby did as fast as ever they could. 
When John was rescued from the old bay’s 
stall where he had fallen, head first, through 
the opening where hay was supposed to fall, 
and when, half an hour later, he and Jinny 
both rode around the corner of the house on 
the back of Daisy, the young Jersey cow, and 
when Father said harshly that everything was 
Mary’s fault, Mary made up her mind. The 
children should go back to Aunt Mary. 

Of course she would tell Rose, but no one 
else. But Rose didn’t come home. Instead, a 
man, who lived miles farther up in the hills, 
67 


68 


Rosemary 


stopped on his way home from town to say that 
Rosemary Dawson would stay all night with 
Norah. So, of course, there was nothing for 
Mary to do but to carry out her plans alone 
as best she could. 

As early as she could get away, the next 
morning, she went cross-lots to town, slipped 
into Old Fan’s stall, untied her and rode her 
home. Then, while Father and Cynthy were 
both busy, she rode away again, this time with 
the three babies behind her on Old Fan’s back. 
She went the long way round, and there were 
so many small accidents and so many sobs and 
screams to be quieted, that if the morning 
train south hadn’t been late she would have 
missed it altogether. 

But somehow or other Old Fan was tied to 
a post near the station and Mary and the three 
babies were tumbled aboard the train. 

‘'Oh, dear!” gasped Mary, “I do hope Old 
Fan will be good and stand still until I get 
back. And I hope Rose won’t mind my 
taking her. And I wish I knew what to do 
next 1” 

There really wasn’t much Mary could do, 
except to fall into the nearest seat, with all the 


All Aboard for Aunt Mary^s 69 


babies atop of her. And as always, when 
things were strange to them, they all three 
cried together. It took much petting and pat- 
ting and two cookies apiece out of Mary’s 
lunch box to quiet them. Then along came a 
man in a blue suit with gilt buttons. 

'^Are you the little old woman who lived 
in a shoe?” he asked, smiling down at Mary. 

Mary smiled back — an anxious little smile 
— with almost no dimple. 

‘T might as well be,” she said. ‘‘Such times 
as we’ve had at our house ever since these 
children came. They can’t talk much — any 
of them — but they can cry. And Father only 
likes John — Father can’t bear girls — and with 
Jinny and the Baby and Rose and me, he has 
four — four too many, he said yesterday. Then 
Rose just can’t get along with them — and it’s 
her turn to-morrow. Even Cynthy was as 
nervous as a hen, she said so. So there was 
nothing except to take them back to Aunt 
Mary. Will it cost much?” 

“Where does Aunt Mary live?” smiled the 
conductor. 

Mary showed him Aunt Mary’s letter with 
the address in the upper corner of the envelope. 


70 


Rosemary 


The conductor whistled. 

‘‘Mary Craig?’' he said. “Well, she can look 
after four girls, all right, if your father can’t. 
It’ll take about all day to get there, and you 
must change cars at Mayburgh,” he added, as 
he counted out the fare from Mary’s egg- 
money. 

“Oh, I must get back before dark!” cried 
Mary. “There’s Old Fan waiting, and I told 
the station man to leave her till I came. And 
Rose must have her, you know, when school 
is out.” 

The conductor had worries enough of his 
own without thinking out Mary’s. But he 
pointed her out to one or two people. And 
the old man who sat in front of Mary, and the 
pretty young lady behind, had heard, too. And 
in a few minutes Mary and Jinny and John 
and the Baby had plenty of friends and were 
treated to everything that came along. 

It was just the kind of time that Jinny and 
John and the Baby liked. And ’way down in 
her heart Mary kept hoping that somehow or 
other she would be able to get back home that 
night. 

But the train flew on and on and on — so 


All Aboard for Aunt Mary^s 71 


many, many, many miles that at last she began 
to feel that she should never be able to get 
back at all. By and by everybody helped her 
and the babies change cars, and then there were 
strange faces everywhere and a strange con- 
ductor who hadn’t time to talk. And the babies 
all went to sleep, and by and by Mary herself 
slept and woke up to find a soft, warm dusk 
settling down over everything and the train 
just rushing and roaring and clanging into a 
big city station. 

Mary left the train with the rest of the peo- 
ple and was swept along into a big bright sta- 
tion. There, in the midst of the biggest hurly- 
burly she had ever imagined, she stood, the 
Baby still asleep in her tired arms, and Jinny 
and John clinging fast to her, their mouths 
getting ready to howl. 

‘‘Oh, dear,” gasped Mary, “if I’d ever known 
’twould be like this, where Aunt Mary lived, 
I’d never have come.” 

A little newsboy shouted something in her 
ear. Much as Mary dreaded boys, a boy was 
better than nobody at all. She clutched at him 
with her free hand. 

“Oh, do wait — just a minute — ^please!” she 


72 Rosemary 

cried. '"Do you know where my Aunt Mary 
Craig lives?’' 

If that little newsboy hadn’t been new, him- 
self, to the ways of a big city, probably Mary 
would never have found Aunt Mary Craig just 
as she did. At it was, he stopped shouting 
long enough to look at her. And something 
about her and Jinny ’n’ John ’n’ the Baby made 
him think of a bit of a home he had left away 
up state. 

^^Got off the wrong station?” he asked in a 
brief, but friendly way. 

‘"No,” said Mary. Then, just as fast as she 
could, she told him all about things, and how 
she just must find Aunt Mary Craig. 

Everybody was in such a hurry everywhere, 
she had to hurry, too. And long before she 
had finished, the little newsboy was pulling 
her along through the crowds of people, push- 
ing and jostling, and all the time shouting, 
^'Ex-try! Ex-try!” Electric cars clanged and 
shot past. Automobiles bore down upon you 
and just missed you. Even Jinny ’n’ John ’n’ 
the Baby — weeping and wailing — were quite 
unheard in the noise and confusion every- 
where. 


All Aboard for Aunt Mary^s 73 


“Here you are/^ cried the newsboy, suddenly 
bringing them around a corner into a clearer 
space, where a number of automobiles were 
waiting. “If your Aunt Mary Craig is the 
rich Miss Mary Craig whose picture is in my 
paper, this is her car.” And before Mary 
could think what was happening, she found 
herself and Jinny and John and the Baby 
pushed into a big, empty car. And the little 
newsboy was off in the crowd, still screaming 
“Ex-try! Ex-try!” and much more which 
Mary couldn’t understand. 

Mary clung fast to Baby and waited. Jinny 
and John cried on and refused comfort of any 
kind. It grew darker and darker. The night 
fell softly over the great city like a big, filmy 
blue veil. Suddenly, out of the passing crowd, 
came a tall woman. She paused beside the car, 
did something which set it panting, and, before 
Mary could say a word, the woman had 
climbed into the driver’s place, the car moved 
— ^and away they flew like some big, swift bird. 
Away they went, up a broad bright street, 
where the lights of different colors looked like 
flowers, where tall buildings, set close together, 
hid the sky, and where they made their way as 


74 


Rosemary 


best they could through crowds of cars, car- 
riages, and people. On and on, over a bridge, 
where a half-circle of lights laughed at an- 
other half-circle in the water. On and on, up 
a broad dusky street, where there were trees 
and houses far back from the street. Here 
they flew so fast that Mary clutched the 
Baby tight and John and Jinny clutched each 
other and, for once, forgot to cry. By and 
by the car went more slowly and at last 
came to a standstill before a large house, 
showing dimly through trees and dark shrub- 
bery. 

On the walk stood a man in livery. Aunt 
Mary stepped from the car. 

‘‘Look the car over carefully, Stimpson,’’ she 
said. 

“Aunt Mary,” cried Mary. She leaned as 
far out as she could from under the cover of 
the car. “I’ve brought you Jinny ’n’ John ’n’ 
the Baby again!” 

And Aunt Mary turned and stared unbeliev- 
ingly at the four children in the tonneau of her 
car. 

“Who are you?” she demanded. 

“Mary Craig Dawson,” said Mary. 


All Aboard for Aunt Mary^s 75 


‘‘Mary Craig Dawson?” repeated Aunt 
Mary. “My niece, Mary Craig Dawson?” 

Mary nodded. 

“Where did you come from?” 

“From home,” said Mary, “to bring the 
children back. Aunt Mary. Father doesn’t 
like girls ” 

“So I remember,” said Aunt Mary grimly. 
“But who are these children?” 

Just here John decided to take part in the 
conversation. He held out a small sticky hand 
to Aunt Mary Craig. 

“Jinny ’n’ John ’n’ the Baby,” he said. 
“How-de-do?” 

“Why, you ought to know them. Aunt 
Mary,” cried Mary anxiously, “even if you 
don’t me. You sent them to us at Christmas 
— don’t you remember ?” 

Aunt Mary opened the car door and helped 
Mary out, kissing her as she did so. 

“You are my niece,” she said. “You are as 
like my sister Mercy — ^your mother, child — 
as any one could be. And that’s my letter.” 
She waved aside the letter Mary was holding 
out to her. “I wrote it just before I went 
away at Christmas time, to tell you I was 


76 Rosemary 

sending you three bright new five-dollar gold 
pieces for a gift.” 

‘‘Gold pieces?” cried Mary, 

“Gold pieces,” said Aunt Mary firmly. “I 
sent them by express. Why should you think 
I would send you children?” 

“You said three small Christmas gifts,” said 
Mary, “and Father said it was just like you.” 
Aunt Mary smiled grimly. “And — well, the 
children came, you know — ^and the gold pieces 

didn’t. But ” Mary paused, bewildered, 

staring at the children which Stimpson was set- 
ting in a row on the walk beside her, “if Jinny 
’n’ John ’n’ the Baby aren’t yours, whose are 
they? And what on earth can we do with 
them ?” 

“Put them to bed,” said Aunt Mary, picking 
up the Baby and taking John’s hand. “To- 
morrow we’ll advertise them.” 


CHAPTER IX 


A CHAPTER OF SURPRISES 

Always afterward, to both Rose and Mary, 
the days that followed seemed like a dream. 
To Mary, except that she missed Rose more 
than she could ever tell, the dream was beauti- 
ful, with rich books, fine old pictures, furni- 
ture, china, flowers and soft colors everywhere. 
In the dream, too, there were numbers of 
pretty new gowns — always two, so that Rose 
could have one. There were long rides into 
the country, where the hills, white with apple 
blossoms, made her happy and homesick both 
at once. To Rose, alone on the bleak hillside, 
where the spring was slow in coming, the 
dream was long and unreal, and she was al- 
ways hoping to wake up and find things just as 
they were before the coming of Jinny 'n' John 
^n’ the Baby. 

Just at first things happened fast enough. 

77 


78 


Rosemary 


There had been the surprise that next-to-the- 
last day of March of finding no Old Fan in her 
stall at Mr. Brown’s. And when Rose had 
driven Billy’s little black Firefly up the hills 
home, with Mrs. Jinny Mason weeping and 
scolding all the way, there had been the greater 
surprise of finding no Jinny ’n’ John ’n’ the 
Baby, and no Mary! 

Perhaps, though, the biggest surprise of all 
had been Father. At first he had thought 
Rose, driving into the yard, was Mary who 
had just been missed, and he did seem so glad 
and relieved to see her. But when Rose had 
cried out that she was Rose, not Mary, he had 
been so frightened over Mary’s absence that 
he had walked the floor hour after hour, say- 
ing over and over that his unkindness had 
driven her away with the children. And when 
Old Fan, tired out with waiting at the station, 
had come home whinneying for her supper, 
and there was still no Mary, in the midst of 
her own and Cynthy’s sobs and Mrs. Mason’s 
wails. Rose was almost quite sure she had 
heard Father sob, too, and say, ‘'Oh, where is 
my little girl ?” 

Of course, by this time, everybody in Sugar 


A Chapter of Surprises 79 


River knew that a woman had come to claim 
Jinny and John and the Baby, that they were 
lost and that a sister of Rosemary Dawson was 
lost, too. And everybody was doing every- 
thing they could to find the children, when, 
after dark, a long telegram was brought to the 
farmhouse from Aunt Mary Craig. It said 
that Mary was safe and well, also Jinny and 
John and the Baby, that Aunt Mary would 
keep Mary, but didn’t know anything about the 
others and would advertise them. 

The next morning early Father had gone to 
the village and sent a telegram quite as long 
as Aunt Mary’s, telling her about Mrs. Jinny 
Mason and how she was coming for her chil- 
dren, at once, and adding — Rose heard Father 
tell Cynthy — ‘‘Send Mary home.” 

That same day, too. Rose found time, when 
she was not Rosemary Dawson, answering all 
kinds of questions at school, to write a long 
letter to Mary. Of course, Cynthy wrote it, 
but Rose told her just what to say. It began 
with the terrible wind and the Found and all 
that came after that, and told how she hadn’t 
meant to be so cross about Jinny ’n’ John ’n’ 
the Baby. And it went on to say that she — 


80 


Rosemary 


Rose — really truly believed — and Cynthy did, 
too — that Father missed her (Mary) more 
than he did John. And they all hoped Mary 
would soon come home. 

Just as long a letter had come from Mary 
to Rose, written in Aunt Mary’s big scrawl. 
It told of Mary’s trip and the newsboy and 
Aunt Mary Craig and her wonderful home 
and the new gowns they were both going to 
have. And it added that Mary couldn’t come 
home yet. “Aunt Mary says,” said the letter, 
that “she’s put her foot down !” 

There was a postscript to this letter, almost 
as long as the letter, which said that Mrs. Jinny 
Mason had come and gone again. “And if 
you’d heard them cry ‘Mummer, Mummer, 
Mum!’ when they saw her, you’d known she 
was their mother sure as sure. And they’re 
going to have their Christmas Tree on Arbor 
Day, and Aunt Mary gave them lots of things 
for it. And, oh. Rose, she’s found the five- 
dollar gold-pieces in her desk just where she 
left them, herself, and she’s given them to me, 
but I don’t need them, and I’m saving one for 
you and one for Cynthy and one for Father to 
buy John, if he wants him.” 


A Chapter of Surprises 81 

The next letter that went from Rose to Mary 
said : 

‘T told Father about the gold-pieces and he 
says he doesn’t want John. Oh, Mary Con- 
trary Dawson, you’d never, never know 
Father, ’deed you wouldn’t. He misses you 
something dreadful. He says he knows just 
which one you were — the quiet one, who did 
the sweet little comfy things for him, no matter 
how cross he was. I told him I’d do just the 
same, and he said, ‘No, don’t begin, please, for 
then I can never tell you apart again.’ And 
then, Mary — he kissed me! And he said I was 
just as good in my way and he couldn’t spare 
me any better than he could you. And I just 
told him all about Rosemary Dawson and he 
laughed, but he cried, too. And he lets me go 
to school right along, even if you aren’t here 
to help Cynthy.” 

There was a postscript to this letter, 
too: 

“Oh, Mary, I made Cynthy open this to tell 
you the funniest thing. Polly Question Point 
told Norah and Norah told Laura and Laura 
told me that Rosemary Dawson had told Polly 
once that she had a sister Mary and once that 


82 Rosemary 

she had a sister Rose. So Polly thinks there 
are three of us 

While all these things happened April 
laughed and wept along her way and May 
came dancing over the hills, putting great bou- 
quets of apple-blooms everywhere until even 
the bleak old hillside blossomed out in white 
and rose color. And one Saturday afternoon 
the M. S. decided it would be perfectly lovely 
to walk ’way up to Rosemary Dawson’s and 
give her a surprise picnic. So with well-filled 
baskets they set out — Laura, Norah, Polly, 
Billy, Tom, and Paul. 

Half way up the first hill they saw a little 
figure flying toward them. It was Rosemary 
Dawson. She wore a pretty new white gown, 
with red ribbons. Red bows, quite as big as 
Laura’s, tied up her yellow braids. 

‘'Oh, deary-dear!” she cried. “Were you 
coming to see me? I’ve just got word that 
Aunt Mary Craig is coming and bringing my 
sister home with her. She sent this gown and 
ribbons and I hurried into them as fast as I 
could and I’m going to meet them in town. 
Father says they’ll surely come that way. Just 
go on up to the house and wait till I come back. 


A Chapter of Surprises 83 


It won’t be long, ’cause Aunt Mary is coming 
in her car, you know, and it will be so much 
nicer with both of us there.” 

‘‘All right,” cried the surprised*M. S. all in 
one breath. But Polly Question Point’s voice 
flew after the flying figure with its fire-red rib- 
bons. 

“Rosemary Dawson !” 

The flying figure stopped — a breathless mo- 
ment. 

“Which sister is it who’s been away ?” called 
Polly. 

“Mary,” came back the answer. Then the 
red and white Rosemary went out of sight 
around a bend in the road. 

“Have any of you seen Rosemary’s sisters ?” 
asked Polly Question Point of the other mem- 
bers of the M. S. 

“Sisters?” giggled Billy. “Rosemary hasn’t 
any sisters/* 

“She said she had,” began Polly. But Billy 
interrupted. 

“She has a sister** he said. 

“She said she had two,” said Polly. “And 
she ought to know, Billy.” 

Billy was sure Rosemary had never said 


84 


Rosemary 


any such thing. Polly was just as sure she 
had. And they had stopped at the top of the 
second hill to talk things out, when a big auto- 
mobile was heard coming up the hill. 

Almost before they could think it swept 
past them. In front was a lady — ‘‘Rosemary 
Dawson’s Aunt Mary Craig,” everybody knew 
at once. And in the tonneau were two little 
girls, laughing and talking, and never seeing 
anybody but themselves. There was only a 
flash of red and white and a gleam of yellow 
braids. 

“They went so fast I don’t even know which 
was Rosemary and which was her sister,” said 
Polly Question Point. 

The M. S. trudged on up the hill. The girls 
stopped so often to pick flowers that the boys 
found themselves far ahead and decided to 
take a trip to the woods back of the farmhouse. 

When the three little girls rounded the turn 
in the road below the Dawson farmhouse, run- 
ning toward them they saw a small girl all red 
and white with long yellow braids. 

“Oh, Rosemary!” cried all the three to- 
gether. 

The next minute Rosemary was surrounded 



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A Chapter of Surprises 85 


by half of the M. S. And everybody was talk- 
ing at once and nobody knew just what any- 
body but herself was saying. 

Meanwhile the three little boys who had been 
in the woods deeper than they thought, had 
come out above the farmhouse, and were now 
coming down the hill toward it. And there 
they saw, running to meet them, a small girl, 
all red and white with long yellow braids. 

The next minute this Rosemary was sur- 
rounded by half the M. S. And everybody 
was talking at once and. nobody knew just 
what anybody but himself was saying. 

Just below the old gate the two groups came 
suddenly in sight of each other. The three 
boys stopped and stared. Billy gave a long, 
low whistle. The three girls stopped and 
stared. And, with a deep breath, Polly said, 
“Welir 

For there were two small red and white girls 
with yellow braids. And from the tops of 
their heads to the tips of their toes they looked 
exactly alike. Perhaps, if any one had looked 
very close, he would have seen that one of the 
Rosemaries had a few more dimples than the 
other. 


86 


Rosemary 


Of course it was Polly Question Point who 
asked the first question. 

‘Who are you?” she said. 

The Rosemary with the most dimples bowed 
low. 

‘*We*re Rosemary Dawson,” she said. 

“But which one of you is onr Rosemary?” 
went on Polly, “the one who’s been to school ?” 

“Both of us,” said the Twins. “I went a 
month,” said one. “And I went a month,” 
said the other. 

“Which one came to visit me ?” cried Laura. 

“Both of us,” laughed the Twins. 

“Which waved the lantern and scared us?” 
said Tom. 

“Both of us,” giggled the Twins. “We’re 
twins, and one of us is Rose,” added one of 
them, “and one of us is Mary, and both to- 
gether we’re Rosemary Dawson.” 

Then Billy spoke. 

“Pshaw !” said he. “We’ve known that ever 
so long — Grandfather and I!” 


CHAPTER X 


A LETTER FROM AUNT ROSE 

‘‘How did you know?*’ cried one of the 
Rosemaries. 

“Huh!” cried Billy; “he’s always known 
your father and your mother and your Aunt 
Mary and your Aunt Rose and that there were 
two of you exactly alike and that one was Rose 
and one Mary and everything. When I first 
told him about seeing two of you, he told me 
all about it. He said he’d guessed almost from 
the start that you were both going to school — 
somehow — he didn’t know how. But we 
watched — Grandfather and I — and we were 
just about sure you took turns in coming. And 
you both brought eggs.” 

“Why didn’t you tell the M. S., Billy?” cried 
Polly Question Point. 

“Well, for one reason,” owned Billy, 
“Grandfather wouldn’t let me. And then I 
87 


88 


Rosemary 


just made up my mind, anyhow, that I wouldn’t 
tell any one, until I knew which was Rose and 
which was Mary.’^ 

“Know now, Billy?’’ teased one Rosemary. 
“Look carefully. Which one am I ?” 

Billy grinned. He didn’t answer Rosemary’s 
question. 

“I think,” he said slowly, “that you’ve both 
bee;n a great deal worse than I ever was when 
I used to run away from school. I ran away 
and everybody knew it. But you haven’t been 
honest — that’s what.” 

“Oh, Billy!” cried one Rosemary, as white 
as her gown. 

But the other Rosemary, straight, sturdy, 
fiery-eyed, and fiery-cheeked, faced Billy. 

“Take that straight back, Billy Brown,” she 
cried. “We haven’t been dishonest — and you 
know it. Nobody ever worked half so hard to 
get an education as Rosemary Dawson has — 
so there!” 

“How did you ever think of it?” put in 
Polly Question Point. 

“You just have to think of things when 
you’re poor, I guess,” cried the red-cheeked 
Rosemary. “There were two of us to get edu- 


A Letter from Aunt Rose 89 


Gated and only money enough for one — and 
we’d earned that ourselves. What would you 
have done, Billy?” 

‘‘He’d have run away,” giggled Norah. “But 
my father says, Rosemary, that your father 
has more money than any one else in the vil- 
lage. What is the matter now, Billy?” 

For Billy had cast himself on the grass and 
was rolling over and over with laughter. 

“I know which is which now,” he screamed. 
“That’s all I said it for, Rosie-Posie — honest 
’twas. I just wanted to make you mad, so I 
could tell you apart. Rose is the one who gets 
mad. You can always tell that way.” 

All the red-cheeked Rosemary’s dimples 
came out together. 

“I never could stay mad at you, Billy,” she 
said. “And I couldn’t at any one to-day, ’cause 
Mary’s come home to stay. And Father says 
we can both go to school the rest of the term.” 

“But how can we ever tell you apart?” cried 
Polly. “We can’t always be making you mad 
at something.” 

“That’s for you to tell,” laughed the Twins, 
dancing round and round in a circle. 

After one day of school Miss Bonnie asked 


90 


Eosemary 


the two Rosemaries to help her out in some 
way. So, the next morning, one wore red rib- 
bons and one blue. 

'Tm the Rose,’' explained Rose, ‘'so I’ll 
wear red. And Mary’ll wear blue.” 

June, itself, was like a rose that year. She 
dropped days like warm, red, fragrant petals, 
one after another. And on the hottest, sweet- 
est, longest day of all school closed and the 
Primary Grade went to Rosemary Dawson’s 
house for a picnic. 

Aunt Mary Craig was still there. And her 
big car was kept busy enough that morning. 
Load after load of little folks went up the 
hills. In the last one were Mr. Hardy and 
Miss Bonnie and Mr. and Mrs. Brown. And 
everybody was so busy having a good time un- 
der the old apple-trees that no one noticed that 
the car sped away again — this time over the 
crossroad, up, up, up into the hills. 

Of all the big folks and little folks Father 
seemed to be having the best time of anybody. 
He put up a swing and swung everybody just 
as many times as he wanted to be swung and 
just as high as he wanted to go. 

The two Rosemaries were dressed just alike 


A Letter from Aunt Rose 91 


again — both in pretty wild-rose gowns, with 
pink ribbons on their braids. 

‘‘WeVe dressed differently just as long as 
we possibly could,’’ cried one of them. And 
the other one added softly, ‘'You see, we al- 
ways do things just exactly alike.” 

While the others played games Billy called 
a special meeting of the M. S. Mary wouldn’t 
go. 

“Rose is really the member,” she said. “I 
only took her place for that one time. Don’t 
make me a member — please. I’ll only spoil 
your fun. I don’t like playing tricks on peo- 
ple.” 

“No one can get up plays like yours,” said 
Laura, “or act them afterward. And next 
year the M. S. is going to give lots of plays.” 

Mary was made a member at once. Then 
the M. S. talked over a new name. Mary 
made the eighth member. But the Mysterious 
Eight, somehow, didn’t sound a bit mysterious. 

“Why not stay the M. S. ?” cried Rose. 
“Prob’ly only one of us can go to school next 
year, anyhow. And if we should both go, 
we’ll be Rosemary Dawson in the club, and 
count one just as we always have.” 


92 


Rosemary 


“And that’ll make us more mysterious than 
ever,” cried Norah. 

So, to the end of its history the M. S., no 
matter how many its members, stayed the Mys- 
terious Seven. 

As the meeting broke up, Mary handed Rose 
a letter. 

“It’s just come,” she said, “and it’s from 
Aunt Rose Dawson.” 

Rose went down to the pasture gate among 
the clustering wild roses to read that letter. 
Cynthy had to be called to help. Nobody ex- 
cept Mary missed them. Nobody except Mary 
saw her as she came slowly back, the letter 
in her hand. 

Mary ran to meet her. But Rose waved her 
away. 

“Everybody sit down on the ground — or 
anywhere — and keep still,” she said. “Please, 
Billy, make them keep still a minute.” 

“You’re Mary,” grinned Billy. “You’re too 
solemn for Rose.” 

Poor Billy was always trying vainly to tell 
the Twins apart. 

“Maybe,” said Rose. “I feel pretty sober, 
Billy.” 


A Letter from Aunt Rose 93 


With Mr. Hardy’s help and Miss Bonnie’s 
and Mr. Brown’s and Mrs. Brown’s and Aunt 
Mary’s and Father’s everybody got still. And 
everybody looked wonderingly at the small 
pink Rosemary who stood in their midst hold- 
ing a letter in her hand. Just at the last min- 
ute Mary slipped through the crowd and took 
her place beside her Twin. 

‘‘Aunt Rose says maybe I’d better — so I 
will,” began Rose, swallowing hard once or 
twice. “But please don’t anybody stop me un- 
til I get all through, or I never shall get started 
again. To begin with. I’m Rose.” She smiled 
at Billy, who looked crestfallen. “Ever since 
Billy said I’d been — not honest, to have one 
Rosemary when all the time there were two, 
I’ve felt queer and worried. I began it because 
there was only enough money to educate one 
and two to be educated. Then it began to seem 
as if there really was just one Rosemary Daw- 
son. I never thought of it any other way. 
And I didn’t tell — it was fun to fool you all. 
But mostly I didn’t tell because I was ashamed 
of being so poor. But Aunt Rose thinks, just 
as Mary does, that being poor doesn’t matter, 
and I guess it doesn’t. I wrote Aunt Rose, 


94 


Rosemary 


’cause Cynthy didn’t know whether I had done 
anything wrong or not. And I wouldn’t trou- 
ble^ — any one else. And Aunt Rose says may- 
be it would have been better if I had told right 
out at the beginning, and that I’d better tell 
you all just how I feel about everything. 
And if it wasn’t honest, I’m sorry as sorry. 
But it was never Mary’s fault, and there 
mustn’t any one think so. And next year Aunt 
Rose says she’s going to take me to Boston and 
educate me. But I won’t go — ’cause if I do, 
Mary can’t go to school. And she’s going 
every single day next year and there won’t be 
any Rosemary Dawson. And that’s all.” 

‘‘Not quite,” said Aunt Mary Craig. She 
came forward and stood between her little 
nieces. 

“Next year,” she said clearly, “I shall take 
Mary and educate her. And that’s all.” 

“Not quite,” said Father. He took his place 
between his little daughters, one hand on 
Rose’s shoulder, one on Mary’s. He was smil- 
ing, but his eyes looked almost as if there had 
been, or would be, tears in them. 

“ ’Tisn’t every man who has twin daughters 
like mine,” he said, “and it’s taken me some 


A Letter from Aunt Rose 95 


time to find it out. Now that I have, I rather 
think I shall keep them, and, next year, I’ll 
educate them both myself — and that’s all !” 

But even that wasn’t all. For just then, 
down the hill, came the car. And in it were 
Mrs. Jinny Mason and Jinny ’n’ John ’n’ the 
Baby. 

Everybody hurried to help them out. And 
John came, with a tumble, head over heels, in 
front of Rose. 

“How-de-do?” he cried, getting to his feet. 
“Jinny ’n’ John ’n’ the Baby’s earned. Some 

by train John became an engine. “Some 

by honk, honk, honk.” And John turned him- 
self into a very lively motor-car. When he 
came to a stop Rose held out her hand to him. 

John gave her one long look. It began at 
the top of her head and ended with her slip- 
pers. Then he set up his well-remembered 
howl. 

“I want Ma-wy,” he sobbed. And he 
couldn’t be comforted until Mary came and 
led him away. 

“How does he do it?” cried Billy eagerly. 
He and Rose were left alone under the big 
elm. 


96 


Rosemary 


don’t know,” laughed Rose. ‘‘He always 
can tell us apart.” 

“Well,” said Billy. He stood up sturdy and 
straight and faced Rose with honest eyes, 
while his face turned red under the freckles. 

“Now while I know you’re Rose, I’ve got 
something to say. I’m just awfully sorry I 
said you weren’t honest. I didn’t mean it, 
anyway.” 

“O Billy!” cried Rose. “I’m not sorry — I 
never was so glad over everything. For it’s all 
come out so be-you-ti-ful-ly ! And next year 
— ^just think of next year, Billy!” 




THE END 


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A charming story of child life. 

BROTHER BILLY 

The story of Betty’s brother, and some further adven* 
lures of Betty herself. 

MOTHER NATURE'S LITTLE ONES 

Curious little sketches describing the early lifetime, or 
“ childhood,” of the little creatures out-of-doors. 

HOW CHRISTMAS CAME TO THE MUL- 
VANEYS 

A bright, lifelike little story of a family of poor childrea 
with an unlimited capacity for fun and misemef. 

THE COUNTRY CHRISTMAS 

Miss Fox has vividly described the happy surprises that 
made the occasion so memorable to the Mulvaneys, and 
the funny things the children did in their new environ- 
ment. 

By LILLIE FULLER MERRIAM- 

JENNY'S BIRD HOUSE 

A charmingly original story for the little folks. In the 
guise of a fairy tale it introduces many interesting facts con- 
cerning birds and their ways. 

JENNY AND TITO 

The story of how Jenny crosses the big ocean and spends 
a summer in old Provence, which is in France, you ^ow, 
and of how she finds the little lost dog TitOy who finally 
comes her very own pet. 

B— 7 


THE PAGE COMPANY’S 


By OTHER AUTHORS 

EDITHA’S BURGLAR 

By Frances Hodgson Burnett. 

The most successful story that this popular author has 
ever written. 

THE PINEBORO QUARTETTE 

By Willis Boyd Allen. 

The story of how four persevering and ambitious 
young folks, left penniless, make their way in the world. 

THE LITTLEST ONE OF THE BROWNS 

By Sophie Swett. 

“ It will appeal to the understanding and interest of 
every child .” — Brooklyn Eagle. 

THE LITTLE RHYMER 

By Nell Thornton. 

“ There’s a catchy jingle which little folks like, and the 
quaint pictures will appeal to the eye .” — Brooklyn Daily 
Times. 

THE KING OF THE GOLDEN RIVER: 

A Legend of Stiria. By John Ruskin. 

Written fifty years or more ago, and not originally 
intended for publication, this little fairy tale soon be- 
came known and made a place for itself. 

A CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSES 

By R. L. Stevenson. 

Mr. Stevenson’s little volume is too well known to 
need description. 

RAB AND HIS FRIENDS 

By Dr. John Brown. 

Doctor Brown’s little masterpiece is too well known 
to need description. The dog Rab is already known and 
loved by all. 

JOE, THE CIRCUS BOY 

By Alice E. Allen. 

A tender little story about an orphan boy, and of the 
good fortune that befell him through his devotion to the 
trick dog of the circus. 

B— 8 


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